


Independent Study

by deadcellredux



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alan is confused, Grelliam, Library Liaisons, Meta, Multi, Reapers, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/pseuds/deadcellredux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alan had heard the rumors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Independent Study

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [dannibri's](http://dannibri.tumblr.com) Alan/Grell prompt request on tumblr!
> 
> [This lovely piece of art](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=26092044) by marimaripink served as a reference for Grell's teaching methods >:]

Alan had heard the rumors. 

When one happened to be a high-ranking undergraduate, certain things just came with the territory. There were perks and there were setbacks, but Alan took his studies seriously enough to avoid too much involvement in the idle gossip and daft attempts at social ascension his peers seemed so frightfully involved in. Alan preferred to keep to himself, _thank you very much_ , and focus on the glaringly serious fact that he might be permitted to take exams early due to his advanced standing. Senior Spears had made that fact intimidatingly clear.

"You'll be sitting in on some senior-level classes, Humphries," Senior Spears had said, in that stern, even voice which did nothing less than demand attention. Gloved hands folded on his desk, he had peered at Alan with an expression so piercing and unreadable that Alan was about to ask whether or not this was, in fact, a good thing, or if he were about to receive demerits.

"Congratulations," Senior Spears had continued, a bit of dry amusement in his tone. "It is always refreshing to see such promise in our Juniors. You will begin tomorrow at nine o' clock sharp. You will sit in on Advanced Techniques and Problem-Solving with--" and then Senior Spears had paused and taken a breath, an expression of distaste passing over his face for merely a fraction of a barely-noticeable second, "Senior Grell Sutcliff."

Alan's eyes had widened and his mouth had fallen open. 

Senior Spears continued.

"I know that idle gossip and the frivolous fancies of the young are unfortunately unavoidable in our institution, but please do not heed such distractions. I wish to hear none of it."

For the first time in Alan's time at the Association's academy, he was sure of the fact that he was able to read the look on Senior Spears' face.

 _Don't even venture into that territory_ , was what it clearly said.

Alan had kept his questions about the rumors to himself.

\+ + + +

Senior Sutcliff was late to class.

Several minutes had passed before an audible shuffling began in the classroom. Alan did his best to keep his eyes forward and his hands folded in his lap, hoping to avoid any conversation or, worse yet, needling over his Junior status in a graduate-level class. Alan had already dealt with his fair share of insult regarding his reputation as a know-it-all and a smartypants and Senior Spears' little pet, and he tried not to shrink a bit in his seat as he imagined his classmates taking notice, realizing who he was--

"So I hear Sutcliff's a right bloody nutter," came a murmur from one corner of the classroom. "Not surprised that he's late for his own bloody class. Prolly reapin' the Queen."

There was a haughty response from somewhere behind Alan. "You _heard_? Ha! Guess you're a newbie. You're in for a right treat, you are, with his classes."

Another student chimed in. "His? I think Sutcliff's a she."

"He _says_ she's a she. Maybe he is. Nobody knows, really."

That statement sent several more voices into a buzz. Alan looked down at his desk. 

_Oh dear_.

"Ha! Well if he's reapin' the Queen, you can bet he's stealin' her bloody clothes too!"

"Prolly show up in a crown all covered in guts!"

"I bet someone in this classroom knows if he's a he or a she. Come on, come out with it blokes, who's buggered Sutcliff?"

There was a crescendo of uproarious laughter which splintered into various strains of lewd commentary regarding some rather nice ladies (in Alan's opinion, anyhow) in General Affairs-- (and my, but he'd no idea that shy, sweet Victoria had such… tastes) and Sutcliff him/herself. Alan couldn't help but turn to observe the conversation, deciding that his curiosity about Senior Sutcliff overrode his fear of being outed as a prissy overachiever.

"Ask Spears who's been buggering him. Heard the two've been shagging since eighteen bloody hundred."

"Thought Spears liked birds?"

"Thought so too. There you have it, then. Nobody knows what Sutcliff's got in his trousers."

"I heard he murders in cold blood! No To-Die list or nothing."

"I heard he _drinks_ the blood. Rumor has it that it'll keep your skin and hair all nice-like."

"Wouldn't want to get in a fight with him. He might act all delicate and ladylike but I hear he socks a punch like a--"

If _sheer panic_ had a sound, it would be the sound of _exactly_ what occurred in the classroom as the door swung open with a crash. Lips were sealed, chairs screeched and shoes shuffled audibly against the tiled floor as students scrambled to pull their chairs in and perfect their posture. The immediate tension was rather startling, what with how carefree the lot of Alan's classmates had been mere seconds earlier. But the figure who strolled in through the doorway was most startling of all. 

It was immediately apparent to Alan that this was Senior Sutcliff. He'd heard about the infamous hair-- hair that he could now see for himself as impossibly long and rather red and in no way conforming to any regulation, _ever_. Sutcliff _was_ wearing men's clothing, however the addition of a flouncy frockcoat seemed perhaps a bit excessive, especially when combined with that garish candy-striped necktie they were sporting. Senior Sutcliff wasn't very tall (and Alan's eyes widened as he took note of Senior Sutcliff's impressive _heeled footwear_ ) and they were rather slight of frame, all sharp features and delicate, fluid motion as they shut the door behind them and strolled to the center of the front of the room. The classroom quickly filled with the faint, soft and pleasant scent of roses. 

Senior Sutcliff was… pretty. And their clothing was rather… tight.

Alan suddenly wished he hadn't sat in the very first row.

"Good morning, dearies!" Senior Sutcliff crooned, waggling the fingers of a raised gloved hand in a mock wave. They then moved a hand through the air like an overjoyed conductor along with the rather-at-attention _Good morning, Senior_ , echoed in unison by Alan and his fellow students. "And how _are_ all of you on this lovely morning?" Their movements held a sort of uncanny grace as they perched smoothly, effortlessly, atop the desk, crossing their legs and clasping their hands around a knee. The chain on their glasses clacked softly-- were those _skulls_? and their smile was wide and bright and very, very… sharp.

Alan tried not to react. Sometimes those recessive genes resulted in some interesting traits, when it came to spawning Reapers--

"I hope you're all properly rested in preparation for your lesson," Sutcliff's voice wasn't terribly deep, but it wasn't quite feminine either. Alan frowned. There were some staff in General who were rather… _brutish_. Perhaps Sutcliff was just a rougher lady who coped by dressing like a bloke? Sutcliff's mannerisms held not a lick of masculinity, and their eyelashes were quite long. _Her_ eyelashes? Or… _oh bloody hell, pay attention to the lesson, Alan._

"You all seemed so very atwitter when I arrived! Anyone care to share what the topic of discussion was?"

There was absolute and utter silence.

Alan stayed facing forward, but ventured a glance out of the corner of his eye. His classmates seemed to be as one in terms of how straight their postures had suddenly become, the absolute attention and respect they now directed to the front of the class.

Grell laughed. It was high and tinkly yet also rather foreboding, and _what's going on stop it Alan_

"Good to hear, my dear boys! I _love_ young men at attention. Do be sure to keep it up," they purred, and laughed again before their voice became uncannily low, serious and cold. "If I deem your progress unsatisfactory, well..." 

They flipped their hair over their shoulder with an elegant toss of their head.

"Don't think I won't reap the worthless, expendable lot of you."

Alan could almost _smell_ the sudden fear.

\+ + + +

Alan's next meeting with Senior Spears was a bit more terse than usual.

"I presume that you are gathering much from your extended studies, Humphries?"

Senior Spears was taking notes in a rather impressive ledger, his expressionless eyes darting up to meet with Alan's and then back down to the text he was scrawling in magnificently neat cursive. 

"Ah, yes Senior," Alan replied. Senior Spears continued writing, his eyes somehow fixed, unblinking, upon Alan's.

"Have you anything to say, currently, regarding the status of your education?"

Alan cleared his throat. 

"Yes?" Senior Spears raised an eyebrow.

"Ah," Alan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Pardon me for asking, but Senior Sutcliff, sir. Is--"

" _Humphries_ ," Senior Spears interrupted. Alan paused, mouth open.

Senior Spears rubbed at his temple and sighed. 

"It is best to _not_ ask questions."

Alan's mouth snapped shut.

\+ + + +

Classes continued without much incident as the weeks went by, and Alan found himself harboring a growing admiration for Senior Sutcliff. Their teaching methods may have been a tad… unconventional, but they were nothing short of highly effective. There _had_ been one rather bizarre lesson in the physics of human anatomy for which Senior Sutcliff had arrived with a skeleton of dubious origin and a rather full glass of wine; there had also been a lesson in technique for which Senior Sutcliff had brought along a scythe. A desk (and several chairs) had been destroyed that day, but Alan and his classmates had come away with some rather valuable pointers. Throughout all of it, Senior Sutcliff’s presence seemed to naturally command attention, and their macabre humor and frequent, relevant references to human art and literature only served to further the fine points of their teachings. Despite all of Senior Sutcliff’s eccentricities and peculiar manners of expression, there was no question about the fact that they were highly intelligent and intuitive, and rather good—perhaps a bit _too_ good—at their job.

Alan was starting to like them. 

Quite a bit.

Or was it… he? or her? Alan still wasn’t quite sure on that one; nobody really was. The gossip continued, as always; yet despite the rumors regarding Senior Sutcliff’s promiscuity, no one could provide a tale of a first-hand encounter. 

Alan no longer minded sitting in the front of the class anymore; he quite liked the way Senior Sutcliff smelled, and often found himself mesmerized by that long, shiny hair which seemed to flow like the surface of a red sea. Alan had long given up on trying to pinpoint things which might give a clue as to Senior Sutcliff’s sex; their collar was too high to detect the presence of an Adam’s apple; their lack of curves didn’t mean much, considering some ladies didn’t have many either; and on the rare occasion that Senior Sutcliff removed their gloves, Alan found their hands to be not-quite effeminately slender, yet tipped with fingernails perfectly manicured and lacquered in red. Alan couldn’t even detect a shadow of facial hair on Grell’s face, though they _did_ seem to be wearing a bit of makeup, which would perhaps serve to cover things up…

Having realized that he was spending just as much time scrutinizing Senior Sutcliff as he was on his studies—if not more—Alan finally gave up, and decided to just enjoy the view.

\+ + + +

Alan’s eyes were beginning to close on their own.

He shook himself awake and shut the oversized, impossibly old book he had been studying ( _A Reaper’s Almanac_ , originally compiled by Thaddeus H. Whittaker, High Honors Class of 1795; last updated by an anonymous contributor in 1837). He had dozed off in the middle of a section regarding demons and how to recognize a number of unholy illusions; apparently Whittaker himself had fallen prey to the tricks of one particular demon in 1801, and had extensively documented his experience in order to prevent others from losing precious souls mid-collection. The resulting paperwork was an apparent nightmare, and also left a Reaper rather susceptible to disciplinary action. 

Falling asleep during such a chapter had caused Alan to slip into fuzzy, lucid dreams involving bramble patches and shifting figures he couldn’t quite recall upon waking. He _would_ have felt rather uneasy, had it not been for the fact that the dream had randomly shifted to something involving… oh. Senior Sutcliff.

Alan shook himself further awake and decided against trying to remember any more of the dream. He checked his pocket watch to find that it was half-past nine o’ clock, and decided that it was most definitely time to retire back to housing.

He stood and stretched, wincing when something in his back cracked. He’d been so absorbed in his studies that he’d been sitting there for four whole hours, choosing to study when he knew full well that his peers were out at a pub somewhere, no doubt having a rollicking time while he was about to head off to bed— _wait, what was that noise?_

Alan froze, having heard the un-mistakable sound of footsteps somewhere nearby in the stacks. He figured it must have been a library employee making the rounds to usher out stragglers, and in the interest of being polite, Alan hastily shrugged back into his jacket and set about preparing to politely make his exit.

Then he smelled it.

Roses. A distinct perfume—

Alan paused. He heard hushed voices, and upon straining his ears, was quite certain of the fact that he recognized one of them. If Alan possessed a pulse, it certainly would have quickened with the sudden rush he felt. _Was it…_

Alan slowly took a few careful steps towards the source of the noise, peering through a shelf of books in order to attempt confirmation of his suspicions.

_It was them!_

Alan whirled around, his back now to the shelf, trying to keep as still as possible. 

Sometimes not having to breathe was quite glorious.

What he’d seen when he peered through the shelf was quite an interesting sight indeed—Senior Spears, seated at a table much like Alan had been, with a stack of paperwork in front of him, chin in one of his hands as his pen worked furiously in the other. Senior Sutcliff stood besides him with arms crossed and one hip cocked out to the side, gazing up at the ceiling in a clear display of impatience. 

Alan wondered what Spears was working on. Grading papers, perhaps? It was curious, however, that Senior Spears was in this particular location. Alan had made it a point to find one of the most isolated parts of the library in which to pursue his studies; he figured that perhaps Senior Spears needed the same level of solitude to achieve concentration on his work. The rumors were most certainly true, then, about Senior Spears being a workaholic— Alan wasn’t particularly surprised.

There was of course a second and rather prominent rumor that Alan was a bit curious about, and Senior Sutcliff’s presence had set his mind racing. Alan slowly turned back around, moving as slowly as possible until he could see through the stacks again, peering through the most minute of spaces betwixt books. 

Senior Spears was now looking up at Senior Sutcliff, who at present was leaning in to fuss about with straightening William’s tie and lapels before rubbing a hand over the back of Senior Spear’s neck. 

Well then. The two of them seemed rather… familiar.

They were speaking, and Alan could only pick up a few words here and there, but they were certainly interesting, especially considering the fact that Senior Spears managed to keep a stern expression in the face of Senior Sutcliff’s rather animated gestures and bright, sly smiles.

“….late…. you…. bloody…” Senior Sutcliff leaned in closer to speak into Senior Spears’ ear, and Alan could make out nothing further until Senior Spears responded. 

“…papers… insufferable… honestly.”

“…silly!... lovely… today was… Alan…”

_What!?!?_

It took all of Alan’s willpower not to toss himself against the shelf and shove his ear into the space through which he was spying. What was Senior Sutcliff saying? Was it praise? Was it criticism? Was Alan going to be left back a grade or something else terrible? What if his performance wasn’t satisfactory?

Most importantly, what did Senior Sutcliff actually think of him? Alan had several… hopes in that regard, but he pushed them from his mind. _How unprofessional!_

“…promising! so… opinion… pair with... _Slingphries_.” 

Slingphries? Who was _that_? At least the name Alan _thought_ he heard. It was rather difficult to make out what was actually said, but Alan definitely heard something akin to what sounded like “Slingphries”. Who could this be, and why was Senior Sutcliff mentioning them in relation to Alan?

Alan’s thoughts on the matter were quickly stalled by what happened next.

Senior Sutcliff crouched down further, sliding an arm about Senior Spear’s shoulders and touching their fingertips to Senior Spears’ chin. Spears visibly shifted to turn so that their faces were inches apart; they continued to speak to each other in hushed tones, and Alan could no longer make out what they were saying. 

Senior Spears then shifted to look around suspiciously, his expression still serious yet also something… else, and Alan felt a sudden pang of fear when Senior Spears glanced directly over at the shelf that Alan was spying through with a gaze that could surely cut steel through to shreds. Senior Spears saw nothing, however, and turned his attention back to—

oh my—not just turned his attention back to, but _grabbed_ , one hand clutching Senior Sutcliff’s upper arm, the other snaking up into their hair to pull them closer, their gazes locked, Senior Sutcliff’s expression going slack and mouth falling open as Senior Spears gazed at them sternly, whispering something into their mouth as they were mere inches apart—

Alan bit his lip, knowing that he should turn away. This was so wrong. _So wrong_! To be spying on his Seniors like this, while they were having a private moment… an intimate moment… a...

Senior Sutcliff pulled away to stand up straight with a sly grin and a pass of fingers over Senior Spears’ lips. Senior Spears cast a cursory glance around again, one hand moving to _actually loosen his own tie_ before hastily gathering up his papers as Senior Sutcliff waited patiently with hands clasped in front of them. Then Senior Spears stood, and after the two both glanced around _again_ , they left Alan’s field of vision, walking swiftly, _Senior Spear’s hand on the small of Senior Sutcliff’s back—_

Alan slumped down to sit on the floor, more confused than ever before. He knew it would be wrong to tell anyone what he had seen, and he vowed to keep it a secret. It wasn’t as if he was much of a gossip anyway—or had many friends, for that matter—but what a thing to witness!

In any case, one thing had become apparently, startlingly, baffling clear. Alan ran a hand back through his hair and shook his head, trying to process what he was now quite sure of.

Spears and Sutcliff were shagging.

Most definitely shagging.

\+ + + +

“And what do we _always_ remember, class?”

 _Be careful with your glasses_. Alan spoke the words in unison with his classmates as Senior Sutcliff beamed proudly with hands clasped in front of them. 

“Lovely!” Senior Sutcliff exclaimed, clapping for a few moments. “You’ve all been so wonderful. I must say it saddens me that this is our last class together! But our time spent as one has proved to be rather lovely, no? I expect all of you to go on and make fine examples of yourselves… and _me_ , of course. I suppose I’ll see you all at graduation, then!” They winked, and nodded as multiple expressions of _thank you, Senior_ sounded throughout the room.

Alan gathered up his belongings as his classmates began to rise and leave, several of them stopping to shake their Senior’s hand and exchange complimentary pleasantries. It had been several weeks since the _Incident_ , as Alan referred to it in his mind, and he hadn’t seen Sutcliff and Spears together since. Either it had all been a figment of Alan’s sleepy imagination, or the pair was rather good at keeping illicit affairs quite secret.

The last students filtered out of the classroom, and it wasn’t until Senior Sutcliff turned to Alan with a quizzical expression on his face that Alan realized that they were alone in the silent classroom. 

Alan clutched his books tighter to his chest and opened his mouth to speak before snapping it back shut. He couldn’t speak now; he already felt the heat creeping up his neck as Senior Sutcliff gazed at him. How terribly _terrible_ , to have such… curiously inappropriate feelings about an instructor, a Senior, _one of the most fearsome Reapers in the dispatch_ —

“Did you have… a question?” Senior Sutcliff asked, with a cock of their head and an impossibly sweet smile.

“Ah, Senior—” Alan stammered.

“Oh stop that nonsense! You know to call me Grell by now.”

Alan swallowed. “I just—well.” _I want to know if you’re a man or a woman. Not that it matters because you’re quite lovely and I want to snog you either way and oh no stop it stop Alan don’t—_ “I’m afraid that… perhaps I… won’t receive… a satisfactory grade in… Ethics.”

 _What are you even_ saying _?_

Grell’s brow furrowed. “Is that so? Well. I might not be the best to ask about _that_ ,” they laughed, with a roll of their eyes and a flick of their wrist. “But if there’s something _else_ you’d like to be tutored in, _well_.” Grell stepped closer, and Alan tried to stop his eyes from widening as something akin to adrenaline rushed through him. “I don’t mind giving some… private lessons.”

“Um,” Alan said, and swallowed hard.

“You are such a… _sweet_ boy,” Grell crooned, and reached out to touch a hand to Alan’s cheek with all the affection of a doting mother. It wasn’t condescending at all, however; in fact Grell sounded quite genuine. This notion was furthered when Grell continued, “You remind me quite a bit of my William, actually.”

Alan was clutching his books so tightly at this point that he was rather sure they’d have some nasty indentations where his fingers had pushed straight through. “ _Your_ William?” he asked, before he could stop himself. Anxiety flooded through him, but before he could apologize, Grell assuaged his fear with further casual and… indecent commentary.

“Of course he’s mine! Who else would have him?” Grell giggled behind a delicately raised hand. “But quite honestly, ever since you first opened your mouth in my class you’ve reminded me of him. A bit too serious, a bit too studious and generally…” Grell moved a hand to trail a finger along Alan’s jaw and down to the edge of Alan’s collar. Alan froze, unable to react save for shivers as the cool leather of Grell’s glove just barely brushed the skin of his neck. Grell took a breath. “ _Generally_ too tightly buttoned-up.”

Alan cleared his throat and Grell pulled his hand away with a smile.

“Pardon me,” Grell purred.

Alan suddenly felt rather clammy and light-headed, trying to shake the residual shivers resulting from Grell’s touch. “Ah, it’s uh, no bother, really I ah just—“

“And you’re so _sensitive_ ,” Grell continued, ignoring Alan’s sputtering. “Will’s quite the sensitive sort as well, though God knows he rarely shows it. But _I_ know.” Grell crossed his arms and nodded knowingly. 

“You think I’m sensitive?” Alan cried, feeling his face begin to heat. It was his best-kept secret, really; his main insecurity, because when Alan was brutally honest with himself (which was, as exams approached, unfortunately quite often and obsessive), he was faced with the fact that he was, partially, unsure of how he would actually relate to reaping. Reapers weren’t supposed to feel in that regard; it was just a job, just their purpose, and humans were nothing more than the corporeal elements of what was essentially a business transaction. But Alan was something akin to frightened, regardless, and he suddenly felt quite self conscious and laid bare in front of Grell.

Grell huffed and rolled their eyes. “Of course I think you’re sensitive. You practically _reek_ of it. But I think you’ll do quite fine. You’ll just need a… mentor who’s a rough sort.” 

_They must be referring to that Slingphries fellow,_ Alan thought. Curiosity seemed to burn within him, but there was no way he could ever ask such a question about such a thing, as that would clearly give away what he had witnessed in the library. How unfortunate—

“Just don’t let it get to you too much. _I’ve_ never had a problem with it, personally—some say I’m cruel,” Grell laughed again, “but it’s not exactly something which is healthy to go about allowing to consume you. Just keep it in check, Alan darling. That’s quite important for us Reapers. Just find a way to manage whatever it is that you feel, and I have a feeling you’ll go _quite_ far. Trust me. Female intuition and all that.”

Alan’s eyes widened and he twitched before he could quell the reaction. Grell ran a hand back through their own hair, twirling a lock about a finger and raising his eyebrows for a moment in conjunction with a smile. _It’s almost like they know,_ Alan thought bitterly. _It’s like they can tell that I’m trying to figure it out and they're just…_ antagonizing _me—_

“Thank you Sen—Grell. I appreciate your compliments and your well wishes. I just—I—“

The floodgates had opened. Grell stepped even closer, somehow, and Alan could smell the scent of roses even stronger than before as he tried to avoid Grell’s gaze, so direct and piercing and _onto it all_ as they gazed at Alan over the frames of their glasses. On that note—how good _was_ Grell’s eyesight anyway? They never seemed to look through their lenses—

“Something on your mind? As your Senior I must remind you that this is a—” Grell glanced behind themself at the open classroom door and Alan detected the flicker of a frown on their face before they looked back at Alan, “—a rather safe space for private thoughts.”

Alan swallowed. “I’m afraid I’ve a question which… might not be...” he looked at the floor.

“Yes?” Grell purred.

“I just—Senior, I mean no disrespect, because you’re quite lovely, in many ways, but I—well, I guess I—“ Alan had begun to stammer, and he looked back up at Grell. There was no turning back now; _out with it—_ “You act like a lady and you call yourself a lady but you also… look a bit like a bloke? But not entirely! I mean I’m just not sure, I just don’t want to say something offensive, or… I just…”

Grell’s expression had shifted to that of an evil, self-satisfied cat with a very nervous, cornered rodent. 

“Go on,” they said.

Alan had begun to sweat. 

“Well I… I just don’t want to misrepresent you, in some way, or have the wrong sort of… thoughts, but…”

Grell crossed their arms and smiled.

“Are you a man or a woman,” Alan finally muttered, eyes downcast and utterly defeated, so currently mired in shame that there was certainly no way out. His face was terribly hot and he was embarrassed, _so_ embarrassed, and certainly doomed to fail in every class ever—

“Silly terms, those.” 

Alan looked up, and Grell continued. “It’s all so restrictive, no? Who cares about such things, honestly? I’m telling you, Alan dear, in a hundred years nobody will give a damn. Or perhaps they will, but personally I’d like to hope that they won’t! Hopefully someone like myself will be quite the norm. And you as well!” Grell stepped forward and placed their hands on Alan’s shoulders. “Considering you don’t seem to worry about such meaningless particulars, or discriminate in your attractions! And who _is_ to judge _any_ of this, after all? Carnal pleasures being so fluid as they are.”

Alan felt as if he might actually combust into unrecognizable ash. 

“There is only one solution to this, Alan darling,” Grell said decisively.

“Oh?” Alan said. It was really all he _could_ say.

Grell smiled, and their gaze dropped to Alan’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “You’ll have to tell me if I kiss like a man or a woman.” 

Alan wasn’t quite sure he had heard correctly. 

Grell raised an eyebrow. “Am I being too forward?”

Alan’s stomach flipped. “N-no, Se—Grell. No, I think—“

Grell finally closed the gap of what little space remained between them. As they gently lifted Alan’s chin with a finger so that their eyes could meet, Alan realized that Grell was a lot taller than he initially realized. Oh right… _those heels._

“I think you are curious,” Grell said, leaning in close enough so that their lips nearly grazed Alan’s as he spoke. “And I think perhaps you should indulge in your… _curious_ whims.”

Grell briefly touched their lips to Alan’s, and the slight, brief contact was enough to cause something truly inappropriate to begin happening in Alan’s trousers. Grell smelled so good, and their lips were so soft—Alan immediately wanted _more_ , but Grell continued speaking.

“Well?” Grell asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Am I right, darling?” 

Now their mouth was against Alan’s as he spoke, and Alan’s eyes rolled back into his head when the tip of Grell’s tongue slid, wet and feather-light, along his bottom lip. 

“Yes,” Alan breathed, and instantly decided to toss all remaining reservations about this situation as far away as possible. He tossed his books to the side—apparently into a desk, judging by the racket that ensued—and promptly wrapped his hands around Grell’s hips, leaning up into a kiss that seemed to escalate from tentative and exploratory to blindly passionate in mere seconds.

All Alan could focus on were the glorious sensations of _hot_ and _wet_ and how lovely Grell’s lips felt, the positively sinful tongue, the faint and quite pleasant taste of Darjeeling. Grell smelled lovely as well, and upon being reduced to shivers at the feeling of soft hair brushing against his face, Alan was overcome with the sudden urge to pull off a glove and push a bare hand into it. 

Alan did just that, in fact, as Grell slid fingers through one of Alan’s belt loops and tugged his hips forward, other hand gently caressing the back of Alan’s neck. The glove hit the floor with a soft _thud_ and Alan’s hands went immediately into Grell’s hair. It felt just as lovely as Alan had imagined, and in that moment he also admitted to himself that he’d been fantasizing about touching it for quite some time now. 

It was then that Alan realized that the classroom door was still open, and accepted the fact that he was _kissing his Senior in a decidedly unprofessional and not-worksafe manner_. He pulled back reluctantly from the kiss, his hands still roaming over Grell’s back and shoulders while Grell’s hands did exactly the same. 

“Had enough already?” Grell purred, voice a bit husky and shaky with what Alan assumed was lust. Alan adjusted his glasses and tried to ignore the pressure that had begun to ache in his trousers. _Oh, bloody hell, calm down!_

Alan shakily adjusted his glasses, which had been knocked quite comically askew. 

“I—well—I would love more, honestly, but—“

“Likewise,” Grell brushed a thumb over Alan’s lip, and Alan could smell leather and blood. He gasped, and Grell leaned in to press soft, quick kisses along his jaw as Alan continued to speak.

“I apologize… if that was… ah!” Alan stuttered as Grell began to lick at Alan’s skin. “Unprofessional of me—“

“Oh, you _are_ a funny one,” Grell murmured against Alan’s neck. 

Alan couldn’t help himself from turning his head to nuzzle his nose into Grell’s hair. “Well I’m just trying to be a… good student.”

Grell pulled back and rested gentle hands on Alan’s shoulders again. “You are a lovely student.” Alan figured that the slightly lecherous tone was wholly intentional as Grell ran fingers through his hair. “A’s all around. Triple A’s. Quadruple A’s! I’m proud to have you as my student! Although…”

“Yes?”

“Well, technically the term is over, so until next term begins, I’m afraid you’re… no longer my student. And I am no longer your teacher! Thus, we can toss any of those silly rules about conflicts of interest to the side!”

Alan blinked. “Ah, I don’t—“ 

“Shhh,” Grell dismissed, placing a finger against Alan’s lips. “Just think about it. Though if you’d like to keep this purely professional, I won’t be offended. Even though…” Grell smiled. “Perhaps you’d _really_ get to find out the answer to that little… _question_ of yours.” 

Grell shrugged and laughed and turned, and the entire moment was broken as swiftly as it had begun. 

“Food for thought, darling,” Grell said flippantly over a shoulder while strolling out of the classroom. There was a subtle glance back, followed by a flirtatious wave and a smile, and then Alan was alone.

The lingering scent of roses in the room and the taste of tea on Alan’s tongue was the only proof that the past several minutes had actually occurred.

Alan bent to gather his books with slightly trembling fingers, mind racing as he replayed in detail every second of time that had passed since he and Grell were left alone in the classroom. What did this all mean? What if someone found out? What if _Spears_ found out? _Oh dear_. Perhaps that was impossible, though—Grell obviously didn’t kiss and tell, but did a fondness for Alan really exist? 

“You’re thinking about it,” Grell’s voice came from the doorway, sounding rather sneaky and self-satisfied, and Alan was so lost in thought when Grell spoke that the sound had startled him into jumping and dropping his books all over again.

Grell giggled at the sight, and Alan just wanted disappear. Grell was _curled_ around the doorframe, having somehow crept halfway through unnoticed. 

“Sorry to startle. I’ll be making my _actual_ leave now. Ta-ta!” and this time Alan could clearly hear the clack-clack of heels slowly fading as Grell walked down the hallway.

As Alan gathered up his now rather battered books in a daze, he considered the fact that the kiss, while quite delicious, had done absolutely nothing to assuage his confusion. 

Yet somehow, Alan decided, it no longer seemed to matter. He wiped the remnants of smeared lipstick from his mouth with the back of a hand and decided that he was fine with certain questions left unanswered.

He _did_ have until next term to find out, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I don't know who this is or where this image is from, but I've decided that [this is most definitely Thaddeus Whittaker](http://i.imgur.com/PsIo6qR.jpg). flecksofpoppy apparently ships him with Lawrence Anderson. Open call to troll for Daddy/Thad fic. No regrets.


End file.
